


Something to Remember Me By

by Anonymous



Category: Horizon: Zero Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Dry Humping, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 02:11:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12644016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The night before the Proving, misplaced longings go astray.





	Something to Remember Me By

Knowing that this will be your last night together, before the Proving-- it makes you a little cosier. Rost's never been too into PDA, although you've felt his hand at your brow, when he thought you were sleeping. When you were a little girl, you'd creep into his bedroll, when he was half-asleep and too tired to complain.

But that was years ago, and you're a child no longer. Tomorrow, you may even be a brave. Maybe you'll even have the answers you seek.

You don't linger on those answers right now. Right now, you squeeze in tighter to the man who is your father in everything but name, and though he huffs, he lets you in. The flames in the firepit spit. You'd accepted Rost's choice, and the parting gift he offered, but it sits in your gut now, too heavy. Rost's presence is both warm and strong-- imagining life without him is like imagining life without fire; the absence of something vital.

Swallowing down the tight feeling in his throat, you press your face to his shoulder. And maybe Rost feels the weight of this evening, too, for he pulls a strong arm around you. Rubs comforting circles on under shoulder blade with his thumb.

“Aloy,” he sighs.

Warmth pools into you, warmer than the heat of the fire. The rasp of your name drags deep into your heart. You lean further into him.

You've suffered isolation all your life, yet you've never been alone. Rost is your father, your mentor, your only friend and confidant. And there have been times when you've thought about him in other ways, too. By daylight, you pushed them away, but by night in your bedroll the thoughts would creep back. Your skin, craving the pure sensation of being _touched_ \--

Face buried in his shoulder, you pull back to look at Rost, catching in his eyes something almost _dark;_ something needing and wanting, sending a thrill deep through the marrow of your bones.

Still: Rost is Rost. Bound by scriptures and laws and his own impeccable sense of duty, and he does not budge an inch until you move forward to kiss him.

You feel the tense feeling of his body dissolve into the kiss. He kisses you back, strong and hard, his beard tickling your chin. His hands run up along your forearm, tracing out the curve of your breast. As he caresses you, his lips move to the top of your head, so tender and so gentle that a small moan escapes from your lips. The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them: “Rost, please.”

He kisses you, laying a path down the curve of your neck. Hunter incarnate, his movements are purposeful; deliberate. You feel as though you're going to melt. “You're such a good girl, Aloy,” he whispers, in between slick kisses, the words stirring a deep heat between your legs.

He rearranges you on the bedroll so that the two of you are laying, Rost behind you, enveloping you in his warmth and heat. He strokes your breasts, your neck. You feel his hard cock pressing against your ass, and you can't help but push back against it. You're so terribly, achingly wet. Rost grinds hard and slow against you, hands mapping out the shape of you, always above your clothes. He rubs your clit through your pants, roughly and purposefully. His voice is a low growl: “Good girl. You're such a good girl, Aloy. I love you.” Those hands, the strong deft hands of a hunter, send you hurtling towards a heady climax. As you moan his name, his grinding grows more erratic, with sharp abortive thrusts against your ass. He jerks, spending himself in his pants behind your back, hips slowly rocking to a stop.

He releases a sigh. “There, sweetheart.”

Warm and sated, it takes no more than minutes to surrender into slumber.

 

When you awake, Rost's warm presence is gone. Your bedroll is cold and empty.

It's the second to last time you touch your father. The last: when he holds you in his arms, bleeding out against you. Urges you to go on, to live.

Even then, he holds you so strongly.

 

 


End file.
